


Poolside Amusement

by GeekishChic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Different Perspective, M/M, Pool scene, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekishChic/pseuds/GeekishChic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The famous TGG/ASiB pool scene from a different perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poolside Amusement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenwolf36](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenwolf36/gifts).



> My poor sick friend Ravenwolf36 needs vitamin double M

A sniper rifle was almost as good as a nice, sharp knife, as far as Sebastian Moran was concerned. Sure, it was not quite as satisfying. Taking a target out quickly instead of taking one's time rarely was. But there was something to be said about the precision despite the distance. It was like being at a faire, only the prize was the life given by the target. He didn't imagine he'd get to have any actual fun tonight either. The boss was usually correct about what would and would not go down. Consequently, no matter what went right or wrong, if Jim said he wasn't going to die that day, that was it. He just wasn't. It was such a common occurrence, that it gave Moran some time to fully develop his appreciation for James' special brand of people skills, to the point where he spent most of his behind the scenes time fighting off hysterics.

 

 

 

But they were in an indoor pool, someplace significant from Jim's past, waiting for someone connected with that past. So there was only but so much movement Sebastian could make until he was generating too much noise for the delicate acoustics of the site. He couldn't even smoke, according to Jim because  _Sherlock Holmes_  would be uncomfortable with that. That was when Moran took more notice of Sherlock Holmes than he did previously. Don't get him wrong, there were various clues as to how old Jim felt about his schoolyard rival. The most blatant had to do with the question of why Sherlock wasn't dead yet. Sebastian smoothed on a third nicotine patch to steady his hands before taking up his sleek black princess, caressed her barrel, patted her firm butt. This he'd do bare-handed. It was an intimacy ritual which never failed to get him what he wanted from her. Then he pulled on what were literally kid gloves and removed his DNA with a soft cloth that also brought her to satisfying polish. Whenever he loaded her, he would make sure to properly clean her up nice and pretty after, regardless of whether or not she had to do anything.

 

Sebastian had been given several missions before this. One of them was reconnaissance to gather intel on the one known as Molly Hooper. It had bored him nearly to tears. Her and her stupid cat and her stupid lonely hearts existence. He'd had several recordings of her speaking with this Sherlock Holmes but didn't read the papers or watch television unless it was for a specific reason. Even then he found most of what he needed in online streams, video clips, and forums. Sherlock wasn't to be his focus, but he certainly was Jim's. He'd gotten John's info from his military background. They'd been in around the same time, had in fact been instrumental in getting the former colonel expelled from said military dishonourably. He'd wanted to do more than choke Captain John Watson out, nearly had an opportunity to do so when he underestimated the fight in the little bloke. He supposed he shouldn't have. His recollection of him out on the front lines didn't manifest until  _after_  he was already strapped into the semtex. Just as well. Moriarty would have killed him if John was non-viable. Literally killed him on the spot with whatever he had handy in his beautifully tailored suit. Sebastian was used to following orders, but what he wasn't used to was being so thoroughly  _dominated_. He didn't even  _like_  blokes yet he'd take this man every single time he was wanted, and was left filthy and confused at how... purified... he felt after.   

 

It wasn't until now that he actually lay eyes on Sherlock Holmes, and he could see part of Jim's obsession. He liked them tall and lean with a face overflowing with odd character. Moran's own hair was usually kept in a precise military cut yet lately, Jim had been making him grow it out. This man, sporting glorious raven curls in contrast to his alabaster skin, seemed to be the reason. He really hoped that Jim wouldn't want him to get a permanent or something because his hair was bone straight. The thought nearly sent him looking for an additional patch. Holmes was sporting a suit every bit as nice as Jim's but wore it in a more aloof manner that seemed to be attractive to most people. Sebastian bit back a jealous(?)sound. What did he have to be jealous for? Jim could obsess over who or what he liked. It was his nature. Besides, Moran basically liked women and vowed that, when he was finished here, he would go get himself two or three to pass the time. Unless he died there that night. It probably wasn't going to happen but there was always a chance, always the option. That was no dummy lashed to the good doctor.

 

Jim's voice in his earwig whispered that it was a go. Watson emerged from the shadows in the olive drab Anorak, parroting words Moran could hear through the ear piece. Once Holmes got well enough into the room, his face couldn't be seen. Which was a bit of a downer, if he was honest, going by the utter shock in his rumbling baritone.

 

"Bet you never saw  _this_  coming," Watson was 'saying'. With those words, he opened the coat and Sebastian took aim. The puppeteering thing was funny the first couple of times but it was starting to get a bit stale. That was, until Jim's big reveal.

 

"I gave you my number," Jim crooned in a high pitched near-whine. "I thought you might call." That ridiculous song popped into Sebastian's head unbidden and he had to give it a slight shake to rid himself of it. Stupid Molly Hooper having Jim set that stupid song as the ringtone for when she called. All the time. Sometimes, Jim would use the interruptions to his advantage, leaving Sebastian in several rather compromising positions to tease him mercilessly. Willing away his impending erection, he focused on the task at hand, and watching the drama unfold.

 

And dramatic it was.

 

They bantered back and forth, Holmes dead clever yet repeatedly surprised by Jim's words and actions. Sherlock was more deadpan whilst Jim flirted relentlessly, complete with innuendo and terms of endearment. Pretty soon, Sebastian was silently snickering, the red dot trained on Watson bouncing a little with it. Moriarty glared at the patch of darkness in which he was concealed yet he still couldn't stop. Jim was just so fucking  _ridiculous_! The way he switched accents from the Irish lilt of their homeland, to middle class London and back again. How he giggled like he'd been told the best joke when Watson grabbed him from behind in an attempt to save his mate. Rookie mistake, showing his hand like that, and James told them so.

 

Warning firmly in place, Jim strolled out of the side door through which John Watson had emerged earlier. Moran had his orders, however and stayed put until he received the audio signal. Sure enough, Moriarty returned, not intending to let Holmes live. If his endless going on about him was anything to go by, Sherlock didn't sound like the sort to give up. But if there was one fact that stood out among all of this, it was the fact Jim planned on The Game ending with his death. Sebastian didn't want any part of that thought except for the part where, at least in this instance, he'd most likely go with him. And wasn't that sobering?

 

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, blood pounded in his ears, even as his heart beat only a little faster at first, speeding up to near full-blown panic as Sherlock pointed John's service pistol(how was he was still allowed to have that?)at the now discarded symtex vest on the floor between the two friends and Jim. Fuck, he himself would definitely survive and recovery would be a bitch. Percentages were low that anyone on the ground floor would live, however. 

 

Sebastian had observed the moment Sherlock and John had decided to die if it meant taking Moriarty with them. Their camaraderie was a bit fascinating. Earlier, as they calmed after Jim left the first time, they were actually giggling. Laughing at having somehow survived their circumstances, or so they thought. It seemed like an easy thing even though, according to John's records, he'd only been home for a very short time. He must have met Holmes literally weeks after his arrival. So what was all this fucking  _brotherhood_  about. He supposed it was because, though Sherlock had no official uniform, Moran recognized a soldier when he saw one. Holmes just had different tools for a different type of war. Truth is, he had to be admired. Especially to have captured Jim so completely. 

 

The disco strains and high-pitched warbling of the Bee Gees 'Staying Alive' sounded so suddenly, he nearly started out of what would possibly be the last thoughts spiraling through his mind. James answered the call with a mouthed apology and made some comical faces that had Sebastian well on his way to a second round with mirth. He nearly lost it when Jim threatened to skin the person on the other end of the line. That was when he knew he was done.

 

He silently began putting away his Princess, leaving the rest to the other snipers to whom he paid just enough attention to know they were present. In two shakes he was in the black sedan slick with rain water and idling at the kerb. He and Jim sat silently side by side in identical poses. If the divider was open, the driver would have been treated to the rather comical view, Jim in his Westwood suit and five hundred pound shoes, Seb in a simple off white thermal top, Army green cargo trousers, and, quite possibly the best combat boots he'd ever worn, to be frank. He sported a day's worth of rather ginger growth where one could eat off of Jim's face, it was so cleanly shaven. As lanky as Sebastian was, he was still sort of massive compared to Jim, four inches shorter and infinitely more compact. It was a bit of the thrill in how he could manipulate Moran into a submissive position every time.

 

As soon as they were perhaps three blocks away, however, Sebastian's broad shoulders began shaking with laughter.

 

"Mind letting me in on what's so bloody amusing?"

 

"I'll burn the heart of you?" he chortled. "Seriously?" Jim gave one of his mysterious smiles, where you had no idea if he was going to laugh with you, ignore you, or stab you in the jugular with his tie pin, but Sebastian couldn't stop. Moriarty stretched his left arm out behind Moran's head and fiddled with the ends of his fast-growing hair where it flipped up just a bit.

 

"Did you not like that, pet?"

 

"It was fine. For a drama queen." He knew he was in the danger zone here, perhaps still a bit high off of adrenaline like the other blokes were. He did almost get seriously injured. And, just like that, it clicked. Why he was so attracted to him, why he submitted to him(somewhat)readily, why it would be so dire to lose him. It was the danger. James Moriarty was a walking, talking war zone. The realization tore the air from his lungs. The sudden quiet seemed to please Jim, however. Little bastard probably knew just what Sebastian was thinking. As always.

 

"I've just gotten some lovely news," Jim purred, gripping the hair roughly but not pulling or pushing, just fisting it hard. "And I am at a loss as to why my cock isn't down that lovely, accommodating throat of yours."

                                     

 

                                                                                   "Black Princess"

                                                         

 

                                                                    Moran's Regular Outfit Just With Short Hair

                                       

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't figure it out, the song that pops into Moran's head is Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.


End file.
